by Jane Peart
How was it possible that he had entertained even a brief attraction to her cousin? Because he now knew without a doubt that he had fallen in love—madly, wildly, inexplicably with Noramary, his bride by default!
Thanks be to God! Duncan’s heart pumped gratefully. He, who had always thought love was for poets, the writers of ballads and sonnets and romantic plays, a kind of madness that a practical man like himself would never experience. How wrong he had been and how thankful that he would not, after all, miss this glorious insanity!
Now looking at Noramary, he was overwhelmed with the passionate desire to possess her. But he must proceed carefully, gently, so as not to frighten her in any way. The right time would come. In the meantime he must simply be patient and wait.…
A log broke apart in the fireplace, sending up spirals of sparks and scattering red embers. Duncan turned to tend the fire.
Outside, the elements raged on, but oblivious to both the storm and her new husband’s adoring vigil, Noramary slept.
chapter
10
FAINT GRAY LIGHT seeped between the edges of the curtains. Noramary stirred, sighed, and opened her eyes. She felt stiff and cold, then fully awake, confused. She sat up and Duncan’s cape slipped off her knees. Realization of where she was and what had happened came quickly. She saw Duncan’s long figure stretched out on the high-backed wooden settle opposite.
As quietly as she could she got up, stretching her strained muscles and arching her back a little. The room had chilled, for the fire had smoldered into a few glowing red chunks of charred wood. She pulled the cape around her shoulders and crept over to one of the windows and peered out.
Although it had stopped raining, steady streams of water dripped from the overhanging eaves. As far as she could see, the cottage was surrounded by a deep wood. Its depth was somehow overwhelming. Noramary had heard this part of Virginia was practically wilderness, but until now that fact had not particularly frightened her. But on this dreary morning it somehow seemed threatening.
At Cameron Hall the afternoon before, she had not had the feeling of isolation she had now. In the luxurious drawing room, illuminated by dozens of candles in crystal chandeliers, its yellow damask draperies, white marble mantel, graceful furniture and French wallpaper, they could have been in any elegant Williamsburg home. Here, however, a feeling of isolation assailed her, and Noramary shivered involuntarily.
“Good morning! I did not expect to sleep this soundly.” Duncan’s voice startled her. “You are awake and up already, I see. No doubt it was the comfort of your accommodations last evening!” he said with a trace of humor.
Noramary felt a little self-conscious, newly aware as she was of their relationship. The merriment with which they had accepted their predicament last night became somewhat diminished in the cold light of day.
“We’ll have a cup of tea, then I’ll ride ahead and take a look at the creek, see if we can get across it,” Duncan told her. “I’ll make up the fire before seeing how the men and horses have fared through the night.”
With his back to her, he began placing fresh logs on the grate, stirring up the coals. Over his shoulder he said, “There’s a bedroom at the end of the hall, a mirror, the necessities, if you care to freshen yourself.”
Noramary gratefully followed his directions and found herself in a large bedroom. She surveyed it with interest, knowing Duncan had lived here during his bachelor years. It pleased her to see with what taste it was decorated. A huge high bed with carved pineapple posters, covered in a plain, tufted woven spread. A fine English desk with a slanted top, a shelf of books, and two fiddle-back armchairs on either side of the fireplace, which was bordered by colorful tiles.
Noramary did the best she could with her small brush, to untangle the damage done to her hair by wind and rain and a night curled up on the settle. She wanted to be at least presentable when she met Duncan’s sister when they arrived at Montclair.
Janet McLeod had agreed to stay on another few months after Duncan’s engagement to Winnie ended with the prospect of a substitute bride coming to Montclair. Noramary was grateful that there would be someone knowledgeable to help her assume her new role as plantation mistress, for she knew very little about running a household, especially a house as big as Montclair with a number of servants to supervise.
She felt some timidity about meeting this lady whom she had heard Uncle Will describe as “formidable,” whatever that meant.
Having done all that was possible to repair her appearance, Noramary rejoined Duncan in the front room.
He handed her a cup of strong and unsweetened tea that made her eyes water as she swallowed it, but sent a comforting warmth all through her chilled body.
They stood facing each other by the now roaring fire. Both acknowledged, although unspoken, an intimacy, evolved from enduring together an unexpected but surprisingly interesting adventure. It was as if they had taken a new measure of the other.
All at once, Duncan felt overcome with emotion and turned away to stare into the fire to ease his own consternation. The words he wanted to say stuck in his throat. He finished his tea and set down the cup. When he turned back Noramary was still looking at him, a little smile lifting the corners of her pretty mouth.
He moved toward her, took the teacup out of her hand and, placing it on the table, searching her face as if seeking some certain response.
At that very moment there was a loud, insistent knock at the door. Impatiently Duncan took a few quick steps and jerked it open. It was Tosiah, his groom, standing on the porch. He whipped off his hat and bowed low. “Horse ready to ride, Master Duncan.”
“Be with you in a minute,” Duncan said crisply. He snatched up his cape and flung it over his shoulders.
’This shouldn’t take long, my dear. I’ll check the carriage to see if we can get it out of the rut. The sun’s shining fairly strong now. Perhaps the mud has dried some.”
With that he was gone, leaving Noramary both touched and bewildered by the little scene that had just taken place between them. She could not imagine what her future with Duncan would hold. He was, she could tell, a man of quickly changing moods. A man who would be hard to know, but possible to love.
By noon they had freed the carriage from its muddy rut and were back on the road. He had gently deposited her in the carriage, not letting her feet touch the rain-soaked ground, saying to her, with eyes shining in anticipation: “I’ll see you at the house.” It seemed to want to say something else, then changed his mind and just touched the brim of his tricorne in a little salute, sprang upon his horse, and rode away.
The sun was out full now, breaking through the clouds in a brilliant burst of light, turning the raindrops still clinging to leaf and shrub to sparkling diamonds.
Noramary leaned forward, looking from window to window, as the carriage jogged along the rough road. The country through which they rode was spectacularly beautiful, if wild. Through the rows of dense pines, flashes of scarlet maples could be seen. Purple asters and flaming goldenrod flourished on either side. As they came into a clearing Noramary saw a ribbon of gleaming light that must be the river sparkling in the autumn sun.
After what seemed a long drive, Duncan rode back beside the carriage, ordered the driver to halt the horses, then opened the door and leaned in to tell Noramary that they were now at the edge of their property.
’This is the beginning of “Montclair,” he said with evident pride, as if he wanted her to take special notice of the landscape from this point on. “It won’t be too much longer. The house is just two miles from the gate.”
“I’ll ride on ahead,” he said and with a wave was off again. “We’ll soon be home!”
Home! That word had meant two places to Noramary in the short span of her lifetime. Now she was asked to call another strange place home. She wondered if Montclair could ever mean to her what it obviously meant to Duncan. A fierce longing for a place of security, comfort, protection—a place where she truly b
elonged—swept over Noramary. Would she ever know such a place! Would Montclair fulfill that yearning in her?
She leaned her head against the carriage cushions and closed her eyes, struggling against a wave of nostalgia threatening to overwhelm her. A picture of her childhood home in Kent formed in her mind—as she had seen it the day she left.
Monksmoor Priory—piercing the sky with its pointed gables, the sun glinting on the diamond-paned windows, the rosy stone. The house had been in the Marsh family for generations, its first stone laid in the fourteenth century. There was a topiary garden and terraced lawns and wide meadows stretching for miles. She had ridden her pony along the chalky cliffs down to a rocky beach and then the sea. There had been a vast expanse of sky and the ocean thrusting out as far as the eye could see. It had not closed in upon one like these dark woods, Noramary thought, opening her eyes again to find the carriage edged on both sides by a thick stand of pines.
Leaning forward again, she looked out the small carriage window to see Duncan riding ahead, and beyond him, a wide gate flanked by fieldstone posts. Noramary drew in her breath sharply. Soon she would arrive at Montclair, get her first glimpse of the great house of which she was now mistress.
Duncan should be with her now, she thought. Yet, when at last Montclair came into view, she was glad he was not, so keen was her disappointment!
The house stood on a knoll directly ahead as they approached by way of the winding road. It was austere to the point of severity, an unpretentious square building of new, raw brick, rising three stories, with a sloping slate roof and massive twin chimneys at either end. Peaked dormer windows marched across the top; six windows along the second row, shuttered with dark green louvers; and, on the first floor, long narrow rectangles with matching shutters. The grounds, except for the surrounding elm trees, were not yet landscaped—not a flowering bush nor any sign of a garden was in evidence. Noramary, who loved flowers dearly, was dismayed.
She had to remind herself quickly that Montclair had only recently been completed, and it still bore the stark look of newness. There had not been time enough to acquire the gracious patina of the older manor houses along the James River. Neither had there been Flemish masters to design intricate brickwork, nor landscape artists to plan formal gardens with Italian statuary. As Duncan had told her earlier, he himself had done much of the planning of the house.
And, in a way, the house reflected the man. Those qualities she had begun to observe in him were an integral part of the building before her—honesty, simplicity, a certain quality of reserve and dignity. All it lacked was warmth.
In time, that could change. Perhaps all the house needed was someone to bring it charm, vitality, a personality uniquely its own. Perhaps she, as its mistress, could do just that.
And, of course, the setting was beautiful. If only it weren’t so isolated, she thought. But then Noramary’s natural optimism rallied, for she had a child’s heart, eager, expectant of good, hopeful of joy.
As they neared the house, a chill crept into the air. There was the smell of woodsmoke, and, somewhere in the distance, Noramary heard the harsh cawing of rooks. As she leaned out the carriage window, she saw several black menservants emerging from a side door, and a group of fine hunting dogs running alongside Duncan’s horse, barking.
Then, finally, the carriage came to a stop, and a moment later Duncan opened the door and held out his hand to help her out. Noramary started to adjust her hood and gather her skirt to descend when she saw, over Duncan’s broad shoulder, the front door opening and a tall woman in black step out onto the porch.
Instinctively Noramary drew back. A terrible feeling of dread swept over her. An unbidden warning flashed through her mind, each word unmistakably clear: “In this house you will know your greatest happiness and your deepest sorrow.”
Then Duncan’s voice, warm and encouraging, broke in dispelling that frightening prophecy. “Come, Noramary, we are here at last—at Montclair!”
Struggling not to reveal her sudden chilling experience, Noramary put her hand in his, at the same time calling forth a passage of Scripture Nanny Oates had insisted she commit to memory before she left England: “Take courage, therefore, and be valiant. Fear not and be not dismayed: because the Lord thy God is with thee in all things whatsoever thou shaft go to.”
Part II
He who finds a good wife
finds a good thing and obtains
favor from the Lord.
Proverbs 18:22
chapter
11
JANET MONTROSE MCLEOD stepped onto the broad porch of Montclair, shivering in the chill wind that whipped her fine worsted shawl around her thin shoulders. She watched the arrival of the carriage bearing her brother’s bride with mixed feelings of relief and cautious expectation.
Relief, because she was anxious to return to her own home in Scotland. She only came to Virginia in the first place to help her brother ready his new home for his bride, bringing with her some of their mother’s silver, china, and furniture that had come to her as the only daughter in the family at her mother’s death. She did not need them herself, for she was the widow of a prosperous Scot with a country house full of his family’s antiques and other fine furnishings.
She never meant to stay this long. Janet disliked the Virginia climate she remembered from her own childhood here. The humid summers, the damp winters, even the blindingly beautiful spring and the lush brilliance of autumn were not compensation enough. She longed for the Scottish coastal weather and the heather blue hills. If it had not been for the scandalous behavior of the Barnwell girl, she would never have remained these many months.
Watching her brother dismount, Janet thought how handsome Duncan was, what a splendid man. A fortunate girl, this Noramary Marsh, and it was profoundly to be hoped she was of some finer and more honorable character than her fly-by-night cousin. Janet had been strongly opposed to Duncan’s agreeing to marry into the same family. Blood will tell, she brooded. Likely as not, one girl was as flighty as the other. She had shaken her head and set her mouth in a tight line when Duncan tried to tell her that Noramary was different. In the end Janet had said nothing. After all, her brother was twenty-nine, and if he were ever to take a bride, it must be soon. Here, in this part of Virginia, still verging on wilderness, a man needed a wife, companionship, warmth, and if he were blessed indeed, affection… not that that always came with marriage, as Janet herself well knew.
Janet had hoped her brother would marry a woman trained and capable of taking over quickly. When she had seen Noramary’s miniature, however, she had put those hopes aside. A mere child, if the picture was any proof. And when she questioned Duncan he had told her, albeit reluctantly, that the girl was “barely seventeen.” Humph! Janet snorted to herself. Barely out of the schoolroom!
With any luck the new Mrs. Montrose would be a fast learner. There was much to managing such a large plantation house. Its mistress had many duties other than presiding at a tea table, which was rumored to be all the young ladies in Williamsburg were taught. But Janet, ever one to do her duty, was determined to teach Noramary everything she needed to know before she departed.
Duncan opened the carriage door and was handing the girl out carefully. Her blue-lined hood fell back, and dark curls tumbled on either side of a delicate oval face. A tremulous smile turned up the corners of a full, sweet mouth. For all her glowing youth, Janet thought, she looked fragile and Janet felt a momentary foreboding. Would this delicate young girl be capable of shouldering the responsibilities of mistress of Montclair, physically strong enough to survive the demands of this isolated life and to bear the children Duncan so wanted?
Repressing her serious doubts, Janet hastened forward to welcome her new sister-in-law as Duncan led her up the steps.
“Welcome to Montclair, my dear,” she said. “I am sorry not to have been able to attend your wedding, but I am, as you see, still in mourning for my dear husband.” Turning to Duncan, she greeted him with a
smile. “Come inside. You must be tired and hungry.”
Duncan’s sister was a very handsome woman, her features much like his, though cast in a feminine mold. Her lips were drawn more tightly, but her eyes were as keenly penetrating and kind. Her hair, the same russet brown as her brother’s, was covered by a black lace widow’s cap.
Pleasantly surprised by the genuine warmth of Janet’s greeting, so different from that suggested by her stern appearance, Noramary stepped into the wide center hall. In contrast to the rather forbidding austerity of the outside, the interior of the house was cheerful and inviting. The wide-planked oak floors were highly polished and reflected the glow from a dozen candles burning in two wide-branched brass chandeliers. From the hall, Noramary could see through an arched doorway into the parlor, where an open fire in the wide hearth was burning brightly.
’This is Ellen, my housekeeper, who has been helping me with the preparations for your arrival.” Janet acknowledged the spare, sharp-featured woman who stepped forward and bowed slightly. She was wearing a gray dress, starchly collared, and a ruffled mobcap over carrot-colored hair.
“Mistress Montrose,” she addressed Noramary, who started at the sound of her new tide.
“And these are the houseservants,” Duncan said. One by one, two shyly smiling black women, wearing blue homespun with starched aprons and colorful turbans, came forward and made an awkward curtsy, followed by two black men in white pleated shirts and black breeches. “Delva, Maysie, Thomas, Jason,” Duncan introduced them.
“Would you like to see the house now?” Duncan asked Noramary with unconcealed eagerness.